Playing dead
by Artura
Summary: The sons of Denethor have a day off and go out riding together. Then Boromir has an accident.


Two horses came slowly out of the main gate of the city, then were urged faster and faster by their young riders, racing each other with shouts of joy as they set out south. It was a warm spring day, and the sun, rising high in a clear, bright blue sky, shone down on them as their horses ran with carefree excitement away from the city. Boromir was home from his latest expedition; Faramir had a whole day free of duties; and they could go out together. The wind coursed through their hair and their cloaks streamed out behind them, bright against the greens and browns of the fields and hedges.

About a mile from the city they left the road and journeyed on more slowly through the fields, talking and laughing together as they heard each other's news and plans. Their midday meal was packed in their saddle bags and after about an hour's riding they started to look for a place to eat.  
"How about stopping in the shade of that thicket, over there?" said Boromir, indicating with his hand towards a clump of coppiced hazel about three quarters of a mile away. A grassy lane running between fields led towards it.  
"It looks good," answered Faramir.  
"Race you there!" cried Boromir suddenly, kicking his horse. His horse was much the faster; larger and stronger, but then he was also very much the taller and the heavier, while Faramir was still little more than a boy, so the race seemed to him not necessarily unfair. However he drew ahead rapidly and Faramir, despite all his efforts, was left some way behind.

Suddenly, Boromir's horse stumbled, and he was thrown from its back. He struck the ground heavily, rolling head-over-heels with the force of the impact, and landed on his back. He made no attempt to rise.

Faramir caught his breath, all joy of speed and holiday extinguished.  
"Boromir!" he cried. Boromir lay motionless and silent, and Faramir rode up with rising anxiety. He leaped from the saddle, abandoning his horse, and ran to his brother. He dropped to his knees beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. His brother's eyes remained closed. He head was lying at an awkward angle and he did not seem to be making any movement, not even of breathing.  
"Boromir?" he called. "Boromir, please, open your eyes! Boromir, are you hurt?" There was no reply. He brushed back the hair that had fallen unheeded, across his brother's face. _Maybe he is just stunned and will wake in a minute,_ he thought. He fumbled for the pulse at Boromir's wrist but could not find it. He spoke again:  
"Boromir! Boromir, please, speak to me!" Tears started in his eyes, and he shook his brother gently, still holding his hand. "Boromir? O Boromir!" he called again desperately, his voice ending in a sob.

Boromir decided that it had gone far enough; and also that he would not be able to hold his breath for very much longer.

Suddenly he opened his eyes; and with a grin and a roar knocked his brother over backwards and pinned him to the ground, spread-eagled on his back. Faramir stared at him in relief, then his head dropped back onto the grass. He shut his eyes and drew a deep breath. He looked again at Boromir, in wonder, feeling somewhat foolish. He had been very scared.  
"Boromir! You live!" His smile faded, and he added seriously, "I thought you were dead." Boromir released Faramir, who immediately rolled onto his side and sought his brother's embrace. His voice broke. "I thought you were dead!" he repeated. Boromir laughed and wrapped his arms round his brother.  
"I am not! I am quite unhurt." His voice became serious. "But now, my brother, you will always remember, and no-one will ever kill _you_ by playing dead and attacking you unexpectedly." He realised that Faramir was shaking, and tightened his embrace. "And for my part, I promise never again to make you think that I am hurt when I am not," he said, dropping a kiss on Faramir's forehead. His face was pale and damp with sweat, and Boromir felt slightly guilty. He had evidently frightened his brother more seriously than he had intended to. "Shall we carry on to that thicket and eat?"  
Faramir nodded. He hoped he would feel less sick by the time they reached it.

After nuncheon they lay side by side on the grass staring up at the sky. The sun-lit clouds were bright white, moving fast across the sky despite there being only a slight, warm breeze at ground level, not enough to ruffle their hair as they lay stretched out in the sun. Faramir spoke.  
"Boromir?"  
"Mmm?"  
"Did you do it all on purpose?"  
Boromir laughed. "No. I fell quite by accident, but when I was gathering my breath, I heard you call and I thought it would be as good a time as any to teach you that lesson. At the due time you will be going out as a warrior, and into the many perils of life, but I want my little brother to be as safe as he may be. And that means you need skill, which you are developing, and luck, and to know as many tricks as you can. Most of them you will not want to use, but it is much harder for any to use them against you if you have met them before," he said. Faramir chewed the inside of his cheek uncertainly, still looking up at the sky.  
"I wish we could have peace," he said.  
"If we want peace we will have to fight for it," answered Boromir. "Anyway, being a warrior is not all bad. It is quite exciting sometimes. And the joy of victory is like nothing else I have ever known."  
"But not for the man you kill," said Faramir quietly.  
"No," agreed Boromir easily, "but I did not ask him to come here and attack Gondor. I am not trying to destroy his people or his land."  
"I wish we did not need to destroy them. They are men too," said Faramir.  
"Well, the orcs are not. If there were not a single orc alive in the whole world it would be a better place," averred Boromir firmly.  
"Yes; but I wish we did not need to fight," said Faramir.  
"If you love something, you want to defend it," said Boromir simply. "Anyway, the reason stewards have sons is to lead the fight against …" He paused, indicating eastward with a vague nod of his head, not speaking the name. "And the better we do it," he went on, "the more peaceful life can be for those we protect. The only thing that could be worse than to die under the yoke of the dark lord would be to live under it. There will not be peace before the king comes again."  
"Is there then no hope?" said Faramir sadly. Boromir reached for his hand and turned his head to look at Faramir's face.  
"Faramir, it will seem different when you are old enough to fight. You do not lack courage; you might even find you enjoy it," he said. Faramir looked very troubled.  
"I do not want to come to enjoy killing," he said.  
"It is not the killing as such that that one enjoys; but it is satisfying to know that one has vanquished a threat to that which we love," he replied. "And I think you will be good at it." He removed an iridescent green beetle that was entangling itself in his brother's hair; and let it run away through the grass.  
"I wish I could be good at something better," said Faramir. "I do not think Man is made for war."  
"Nor does our father, but he is still the best warrior of his age in all Gondor. And war makes you realise how much you value that for which you fight. You will make a good soldier, Faramir, because you love your city, so when the time comes you will want to fight for it; and you do not lack ability in the arts of war even if they do not sit easily with you. But war is what really matters. If one cannot gain victory, all else will be brought to naught," said Boromir.  
"Yes; but surely that which really matters is that for which one fights the war. Without that, the war has no purpose," answered Faramir.  
"Maybe," said Boromir. He did not really understand Faramir's qualms, but he would grow out of them, Boromir thought, and worry less, when he was fighting for real. He sprang to his feet. "Shall we go down to the river now?" Faramir jumped up with a smile.  
"Race you?" he asked.

In the afternoon they fished. They had some success, and took a dozen fat perch home with them. Some they ate in the evening with their father who listened gravely after the day-meal to the story their expedition. As he heard tell of Boromir's fall from his horse, and lesson to Faramir, he gave, unexpectedly, one of his rare laughs and turned to Boromir with a half-smile.  
"Boromir! Your poor brother! But it was a good lesson, and well taught.  
"May the Valar keep both of you safe," he said. He finished his wine, laid down his cup and rose.  
"I wish you both goodnight," he said, kissing each of them. "I have more to do this night so I will leave you now. Faramir, no more than half an hour longer out of bed; and you Boromir could do with spending more time asleep while you have the chance." Each bowed in acknowledgement of the command.  
"Goodnight, father," they answered. After Denethor had left the room, they sat once more and Boromir poured more wine for each of them, watering Faramir's.  
"Last cup, and then to bed for us both," he said.


End file.
